Feathered friends, an Ode to the Chickadees

      Of all the birds I love in the world, and there are many, the Black-Capped Chickadee is my absolute favorite.  They have so much personality packed into their tiny songbird bodies!  Chickadees, from the Paridae family, are native to North America, and are revered in many Native American traditions for their curiousness and bravery.  Chickadees love to check out new things, and are always on the look-out for danger.  They often live in flocks with other Chickadees, Nuthatches, Woodpeckers, Cardinals and Finches.  Chickadees are often the first to notice an intruder. Their loud buzzing, "Chick-a dee-dee-deee", notifies the entire flock of danger.  Chickadees are very competitive for food, and will stand up to a much larger bird, to get to a yummy treat.  Their curious natures allow humans the honor of meeting them in the woods.  They flutter from tree branch to tree branch sizing up the stranger, and buzzing about it to any bird that will listen.  

     

Hand-feeding Chickadees at my feeder

         I learned many years ago that people were able to hand-feed Chickadees.  I wanted to do this one day!  I have always fed the birds, in all the apartments I rented over the years.  But when I bought my house a few years ago, and realized I could be feeding these same birds and their offspring for the rest of my life, I made it my goal to know "my birds."  My particular feeder flock consists of about 20 Chickadees, that stay all year on the island.  They brave the incredibly harsh winters, and in the summer they come less to the feeder, as there is much to feed on in the fields.
      Many people have asked how I got the Chickadees to my hand, so here is how I did it.  If you love birds, you should try it! The key is patience!!  I feed the birds all year, so many of the same birds check out the feeder daily.  I began standing outside beside the feeder after I filled it with seed, so they would get used to my presence while they ate.  I often sat in a chair during the day between their favorite perch, a huge lilac bush, and the feeder.  They became more and more comfortable with me.  Then, I made sure to feed only enough food for the day.  So at morning the feeder was empty, and the birds were eager for seed.  I then began holding my feed scoop full of black-oil sunflower seed, out from my body and waited.  Soon, a couple birds came to the scoop, while the other curious ones watched.  Once they realized the brave birds were getting first dibs on seeds, others joined in.  I did this for a few weeks.  Then one morning, instead of a scoop, I used my hand.  I stood quietly, at the lilac bush with my seed-filled hand, a few came to closer branches, staring at me, buzzing. I found that not looking at them, instead looking down, increased their trust.  After all, predators stare!  Then the two most friendly ones hopped into my hand, quickly grabbing a seed.  I was overjoyed!!  As time went on, more and more birds came to my hand, taking turns, even chasing each other away in competition for the first seeds of the morning.  I feed them this way everyday, also a key to hand-feeding is consistency. We can look at each other now, they know I won't hurt them.  A few will even sit  in my hand picking through to find just the right seed.  Some stare in my eyes, I wonder what they must think of me?
           Feeding the Chickadees is one of the true simple joys of my life!  When I get home from a long night shift at the hospital, they greet me, much like my pets.  As I take the dogs out, the Chickadees dive me, chirping and buzzing "The feeder is empty, crazy bird lady!"  When we open the curtains of the window looking out toward the feeder, in the morning, excitement ensues. They buzz towards the window, or perch on a plant staring in the window.  With a flirty flutter, they chirp, "Feed us, feed us!"  When I was away recently, my partner took over the feeding, and reported to me how they all were doing.  Since I have been doing this for a number of years, other people can feed my flock as well.  Some of my birder friends love to come to hold the Chickadees.  Some of the Chickadees have been named, and I do have a favorite.  Mr. Stripey is a shy, larger bird with a white stripe across his black cap.  I have never seen this marking on a Chickadee. It took him many months to come to my hand, although he vocalized the loudest, while all the others were doing it.  It was a great day, when he finally came to me!  Below, is a poem I composed the other morning, after stressful work shifts.  I hope it expresses how much I admire these winged creatures, and how much they help me!!

 

Chickadees!

So light in my palm,

Cares from a difficult shift

Take wing

One- by one

Peace.

Eskies and Equality -together at last!

       This post was going to be about my rescued American Eskimo Dog, Ahnah, for the Pagan Blog Project.  However, I am a week behind in writing as I just returned home from caring  for my mom, and needed some rest.  So in honor of International Women's Day I am going to attempt to tie in two posts together!  Hold on...this could be interesting.
      The story of my beloved dog, Ahnah, is a sorted tale of love and loss.  My beloved partner and I lost our dog, Howie, last year, to an unfortunate accident.  To understand how painful this was for us, is to understand that we have never given up on an animal.  We are child-free women by choice, and our animals are our babies.  We both have had pets, usually multiple, in our homes for our entire lives.  We are devoted to them, and often laugh about the fact that they come first.  So, with the loss of this dog, came the tragedy of injury, lost friendships and the guilt that comes when you wonder was there anything different we could have done.  I will not go into this any further, other than to say, a dog's personal space needs to be protected.  Together, we shared immense pain, and it changed us.  A few years prior my "dog-daughter", Sophia died at the age of 15.  I miss her everyday, and really never thought I could have that deep a connection with another animal.
       After losing our dog we knew we wanted to adopt another.  We had been watching for dogs on Pet-Finders and saw that there were more than a thousand up for adoption within a hundred mile radius of our home.  This was so tragic!!  We went to see a Puggle mix dog, at a local rescue.  We fell in love with the adorable, brown, smooshed- nose beast with an under-bite!!  I happened to see a white dog peering at me quietly, in a corner crate.  I asked about her, with curiosity.  The rescue owner said, "I will bring her out." before I could even get out the words, "We are only looking for one dog."  My partner brought out the little white dog to the yard on a leash.  She ran up to me, put her feet on my thighs, and stared into my eyes with her one little eye.  I scooped her up, tears pouring down my face- it was instant profound connection.  She licked my tears, wagging her entire body with joy.  We rescued two dogs that day, or perhaps, they rescued us.

Sagan, Ahnah and I in Maine!

       So here is my Pagan tie in to the story.  I had been doing deep meditation work during the months preceding this, a balm for difficult times.  The name Ahnah, (I was unsure of the spelling) kept coming to me during meditation.  I thought it might be the name of a spirit guide, but did not give it a lot of thought. When we brought the little Eskimo dog with one eye into our home she was named Elle.  She did not know this name at all, so we renamed her.  She had been abandoned in a South Carolina shelter, likely a pure-bred Eskie, with an eye injury.  We know nothing else about her life, other than she had surgery and was transported to a Vermont rescue with the Puggle, we named Sagan, after Carl of course!  The name Ahnah kept coming to me, while searching for names and I looked it up.  Ahnah, is an Inuit word meaning wise woman.  Perfect!!  Ahnah looks like a young wise woman staring and all-knowing with her one little eye.  She is wonderful, smart, funny, active and loves the water and the snow.  She graduated from obedience class, and is a perfect companion for me.  The missing eye is not a disability for her.  It does make me nervous, because she does not have a spare!!  We now have a very complete family in our tiny home, with three rescued amazing boy kitties as well.
       Another Pagan tie in, is my belief that all sentient beings are important, worthy, and come from the Source, just as humans do.  Sometimes I feel that dogs are more evolved than we are.  Most days I only hope to be half the woman that Ahnah thinks I am.  They are pure love!  Dogs languishing in shelters because they are given up on, or their owners gave little thought to the acquisition of a new pet, is morally wrong.  So is, not neutering pets, especially cats that can have countless litters of unwanted kittens.  The way we keep animals for food is repugnant as well.  Animals kept, crowded, caged, and against their true nature with rampant disease is unethical and unsafe for the world.  I will write a much more in depth post in the future about conscious eating. 
        On International Woman's Day I would like to honor all beings with the dignity they deserve!  The last weeks rantings by Rush Limbaugh, and hearings on birth control in the Congress that included no women, is nothing short of shameful and outrageous!  What in the world does a panel of older men, half from the church, have to do with anything about any woman's body??  People of conscience, and I do not mean the fake Christian kind, that spout the words of Jesus and then are hateful to everyone who is not just like themselves;  I mean thinking, feeling people, who believe in equality, that love must prevail, that peace is not only possible, but necessary, for the future of our planet.
We must stand up everyday for what is right!
         We need more women leaders, period!  We also need brave men that will call-out men who call any woman a slut, every time!  Women need to be trusted!  We have a right to control our own bodies including the reproductive parts!  If this ridiculousness continues, we need to revisit Lysistrata, and protest every drug store that sells Viagra!   Leaders who care more about a fetus, than about babies once they are born need to go!  Opponents of abortion rights, should be the biggest proponents of birth control.  The opposite is true, because this is all about controlling women.  Once again, immoral and out-dated!  Women all over the world are victims of rape, genital mutilation, and starvation.  They are refuges of war, caught in the middle of violence, desperately trying to survive.  With all the serious problems in the world, we do not have to entertain this misogynist 3-ring circus, meant to divide us, and take away our power.  We just need to say, NO!  We vote!  Get something done for us, or you are all fired! 
       I could go on about equality for days, but this ( humor me, let's take all the names we're called, and embrace them occasionally with pride) slutty, Tree-hugger, "Femi-nazi", Dyke, Pan-Dianic Witch, has to go play with the little white dog,  who brings such whimsy to her life!  In my older age I understand that life is too short to be too serious, and one has to have balance.  For me, whimsy and the search for wisdom are integral to my inner alchemy!

A few days after we adopted our fur-babies!

      
     

Darkness

     I have missed writing for the past few weeks. I have been busy caring for my mother in Ohio, who was recently diagnosed with cancer.  As a nurse for many years, I have cared for countless patients and families confronted with serious and terminal illnesses.  I have helped many people live their last hours with dignity, and I have been present when many have passed on.  These are the dark days of people's lives; new diagnosis, feeling our own mortality, loss and pain.  I am blessed to be present during these times, and able to offer even the slightest comfort and hope. For all my experience though, I was unprepared for how different this would feel, when it was my own mother.
      Darkness is defined as, "the state or quality of having little or no light, lack of knowledge or enlightenment, lack of sight or blindness, obscurity or concealment."  In my own life, I have rarely been afraid of the dark.  I have excellent night vision, so I enjoy running around the island at night.  I spent most of my later childhood and teen years  sleeping alone, or with my dog, in a tent in the back yard, a lantern used only for reading.  The moon and I have always been friends.  I also have spent time exploring the darkness of my soul; a practice common among most Pagans.  My tenebrious psyche, opened up, an acceptance of my true nature, torn apart to be made whole again.  At the beginning, I was very afraid of this amazingly difficult work, but it became less scary and painful.  I now feel, that plunging into the depths of our mysterious darkness,  is necessary for the human condition.
      Caring for my mother, from a distance, when she was first hearing the word, CANCER, was very troubling.  I could not see her visually, to assure myself she was
OK- of course she was not OK- but relatively speaking, I needed to know she was not completely falling apart.  I arrived in Ohio, the week preceding the surgery.  It was important one for our small family.  We readied the house, bought a shower chair, moved a bedroom to the first floor, celebrated a birthday. We participated in our individual roles, in our "new abnormal, normal." But my mom and I had other preparations to make as well.  My mom and I have always been very connected, even in times when we did not seek to be. We share the obvious genetic material, and the less obvious, deep-rooted spirituality of our ancestors.  Helping my mom deal with her fear, and grief, while grappling with my own, was one of the hardest things I have ever done.  We called upon everything we had ever known to help us fortify, for the dark days ahead.
      Surgical day is here. Early arising, driving near an hour, fast, fast, faster the morning proceeded.  My mom is taken to the Pre-op area and my sister my father and I wait.  We were soon ushered back to sit with her while she waited.  She appears vulnerable, scared, and pale.  I know many of her fears, and I tremble inside with anxiety.  I encourage my sister and dad to go near mom, and hold her hand. They did reluctantly, for fear of disturbing her IV.  This was of great comfort to her.  I have learned over the years in nursing,  touch is vital to healing. A kind word, the squeeze of a hand, a pat, a back rub, can make as much difference to a scared patient as medicine.  It is a gesture that shows we are empathetic, not just there to care for a physical wound. 
      "I am a survivor too." says the OR nurse, as she squeezes my mom's hand.  My mom's eyes change, the fear slipping away.  "How long?" my mom asks, in a more confident voice than I have heard her use in days.  "Eight and a half years." replies the nurse who turns to push the stretcher from the room.   My gratitude to this nurse is endless.  Her empathy and love illuminated the darkness for my mom and I.  What an incredible gift. 
     "Call upon your spirit guides, while you wait for sleep.  They are with you. I love you. I will be right here when you wake up." I say to my mom, as she is about to be taken back to surgery.  I was right there, we all were, when my mom was wheeled into her room, still foggy from anesthesia.  The subsequent hours were physically and emotionally difficult for my mom and I. We read from our devotional, morning and night, and we discussed that Kuan Yin's birthday was celebrated that day.  Kuan Yin means, She who hears the cries of the world.  She has heard my cries for many years.  I silently invoked Her all day while waiting, and as I tried to fall  to sleep while my mom slept. Peace was around and within me.
      In our darkest times as humans we feel depressed, racked with despair, sinking in the murk and gloom.  Blackness does not reflect light, at least for the eyes of our species.  This brings to mind the Olber's Paradox.  The night sky appears dark to us, even though there are trillions of stars.  The universe has a finite age. Light from the most distant stars has not yet reached our tiny planet.  The universe is also expanding and accelerating, so light from these distant stars is Doppler -shifted.
The electromagnetic spectrum of red hues produced, cannot be perceived by us. In the appearance of darkness, there is light, but we are not always able to see it.
      As I sit meditating in one of my favorite parks, I reflect upon my mom's strength, and healing.  The birds songs are louder, the robins, signal spring. They hop to the tree I sit under, looking at me.  There eyes perceive ultraviolet light,  how must I look to them?  They hop to the ground, cock their heads and grab up worm after worm.  Worms give them nutrition, they fertilize and aerate the soil in which everything around me grows.  Their entire life cycles played out in the moist, wet, cold darkness of earth.  I cannot perceive their presence like the robins. Instead I must choose to travel in my mind to their dark, dank world, black as pitch -where life happens.  For, it is in the dark, solitude of our minds, that understanding happens.
     Our species longs for connection with  Source, our Cosmic Mother. Thrust from Her dark, moist, protective womb, where we heard only muffled sounds of our future, or is it our past?  We are born- cold, naked, screaming into a bright world, beyond our understanding. We can seek this connection in the darkness, with closed eyes, questing for wisdom.  Through a myriad of contrasts, like colors, we can find wholeness.  No part left out, we are entombed yet enthroned, enclosed and enveloped, embraced and released.  Out of the darkness, from our ancient inner-knowing, comes the truth; the pain of disconnection ceases, if only for a moment.  Then comes the clarity - every cell of our body prickling with the truth.  I will be here when you wake up.      


 
     
      

The Mysterious Ballachulish Goddess

    All hail the Ballachulish Goddess!!  This morning I saw an amazing photo posted on Facebook by one of my favorite authors and Goddess thealogy scholars, Patricia Monaghan, of an ancient Goddess statue.  The Ballachulish Goddess was discovered in a peat bog near Loch Leven, Scotland  in 1880.  Her delicately carved four foot tall oak body, with inset quartz stone eyes was perfectly preserved for more than 2500 years in the "tomb" of peat.  Carved between the years of 730-520 B.C.E, and encased in a shrine casing of wicker; she was buried at an important, yet dangerous crossing.  I have never heard of Her, and I have many questions.  Who buried her? Was she ritually buried or perhaps hidden?  There is more mystery surrounding her, than facts.  I could not resist writing about a good mystery!!  This rich landscape of Loch Leven would probably have been able to support an agricultural society 4000-6000 years ago.   Ancient depictions of the Divine Feminine have been found on every continent, except Antarctica; and the Ballachulish Goddess is the oldest human-like figure uncovered in Scotland.  She is presumed to be a fertility figure, as many of the feminine statues are in this patriarchal age.  I did an internet search, and other than an account of the excavation, including some Christian rhetoric from 1880, there is little information.  I intend to do some more research soon.
     Another mysterious Goddess roamed these lands, the Celtic hag, the Cailleach, meaning veiled one.  A nearby mountain, Beinn a' Bheithir is named for Her.  The Irish and Scottish lore surrounding the Cailleach are marvelous.  She was a crone Goddess, manifesting winter wind and snowstorms.  She farmed and was a spinner, and challenged people to out-do Her in the fields or at the wheel. She was the winner in these contests, and collected many young lovers, and offerings of wool laid on hearths all over the land. She was born old at Samhain and became young by Beltane, or shape-shifted into a moist boulder.  In some stories she was replaced  by the maiden Goddess, Brigit in the spring season.    As the wheel of the year turned, the Cailleach was once again, riding her wild pigs, and wolves, navigating through blinding snow-storms with only one eye. She often carried a magical slachdan made of aspen wood, similar to a shaman's staff, to challenge hunters for Her deer, bring frost over all the land and to both heal and curse.  In some stories it was made of iron.  She dropped boulders from Her apron, creating mountains and there were numerous man-made and natural shrines to her.  She was also Sovereignty, and kings had to lie with an old hag, seeing through to Her inner beauty, and power, to prove they could reign.
    In one of the legends, she forces a hunter to tie up his hunting dogs with one of her hairs.  She then attacks him and says, " Long have you been the devoted enemy of my persecuted sisterhood." Such is the struggle between crones, and man, for all time.  The Cailleach was thought to be as old as time, She was Creatrix of the landscape, and her very breath was the wind. The Celts took up worship of Her, already an ancient Goddess, when they came to the area now known as Scotland and Ireland; but it is unknown how long She was worshiped before that. The Christian Church attempted to wipe out worship of the Divine Feminine, but the Crone was too big for that!  Even into the 19th century, the Cailleach was said to bring the end of winter snow squalls, save young boys that slipped from the mountains, foil hunters in their chase, and sing to people nearing death. 
    So I wonder, is the Ballachulish Goddess really a maiden or mother Goddess, holding a phallus near her womb?  Or is she wielding, a slachdan?  Perhaps, she is the even more ancient representation of the Crone Goddess; power and wise fierce beauty, lifted from her dark grave, so we can once again share in Her many mysteries!!!

The Ballachulish Goddess currently resides at The National Museum of Scotland, in Edinburgh

Four foot tall and deteriorated since discovery

Sources: The Goddess Path, Patricia Monaghan, and Max Dashu's Crones at http://www.suppressedhistories.net/secrethistory/crones.html

Bald Eagle Messages

      I have heard the sacred call of birds my entire life. I always remember watching birds, lying for hours on my bed observing the bird feeder, trying to catch them, and feeling I was very much like a bird.  I spent much of my childhood flying in my dreams nearly every night.  I did not know of astral travel at the time, but upon awakening I was so convinced I could fly, my mother was afraid I would jump from a tree.  I enjoyed the peace, solitude, and height of my favorite maple tree, but never considered jumping.  I now believe my tree retreat was my innate way of grounding myself in the solid branches, and firm roots deeply reaching into the earth, after a night of soaring the heavens.  I will write much more about this, and my connection with many birds in future posts, as it is a key to my spiritual evolution.
      My recent call from the avian world is from the Bald Eagle.  I have to admit, this very majestic, powerful and high-flying medicine is overwhelming to me.  I feel unworthy, but I have to follow this path.  When I speak of "Medicine," I refer to the Native American meaning;  connection with the Great Spirit, and all of creation, to heal the body, mind and soul.  I  discovered eagle-cams last year.  They are growing in number around the country to monitor eagle nests, and provide a window into the lives of these amazing raptors.  I was amazed at the thousands of people who like me, watched the eagle parents  rearing eaglets on towering nests of sticks eighty feet in the air.  This technology is miraculous!  I held my breath as the eaglets with unsteady, gangly bodies, so close to the edge of the nest, swayed  to and fro in high winds.   I cried at the sheer strength and commitment  of the Eagle parents; their protective wings covered with new-fallen snow.   Eagle-cam addicts, myself included,  sobbed when we heard a mother eagle we had been following in Norfolk collided with an airplane while her chicks were still in the nest.  I took many notes of Bald Eagle habits hoping to write an article,  possibly a poem, or a song, about their lessons for me, and the world.  I did not write about them, other than in my journal.  Life gets in the way sometimes. 
      I have seen bald eagles in the wild a few times in flight.  It is always a special treat, the energy it gives me sustains my spirit for weeks.  However, in the past three weeks I have seen a Bald Eagle three times near my home, and during meditation have been visited by what at first appeared as the piercing eye of an unknown raptor.  I now know her as an eagle, and when asked what I should call her, she responded, Nila. The name means she who succeeds or acquires.  She does not say much, but watches, peering into my soul with eyes that see everything.  I have prayed for wisdom, to find my way, for understanding of the call inside me that I cannot explain, but must be answered.  She tells me to sit in Spirit, ask for help, and appreciate the guidance I have been given throughout my entire life from my guides.  She tells me to study, think and meditate, and to be in communication with them often.  She says I am on the right path, I must believe her.  

       Bald Eagles have been revered and used as symbols of power the world over.  They have always been used by shamans to see above the mundane, view the big picture, and connect with the Divine.  In Native American tradition they are believed to be messengers from Spirit, their feathers have strong healing powers, and their strength gives courage to soar above,  while remaining connected to the earth and the Source.  Eagle medicine has the power to transform dreams to reality, with hard work, and  higher intentions than ego.  Eagles are the king of birds, but they live in delicate balance with all life.  Soaring on unseen currents of air, slowly spiraling higher and higher, it appears easy.  Perhaps with keen awareness, developed perceptions that reach inward and ever upward; with humility and faith we can all rise to the call of Bald Eagle.
     Yesterday morning, while on my long commute home from work. I spotted a Bald Eagle perched high in a tree along the frozen banks of Lake Champlain.  I rolled down the windows of the truck, and inched as close as possible, trying not to disturb.  She turned her head around to look at the truck, but continued viewing the entire landscape from her lofty branch.  I sat in awe for nearly ten minutes, until she lifted off the branch with wings outstretched, slowly lifting into flight.  Never had I seen an Eagle's flight so closely.  How fortunate I was to have witnessed this, and even snapped a few photos with my phone. 
     Yesterday evening I received a call from my family. It was a message of bad news, of which I will write later.  I am reeling, feel powerless, afraid, aware that I will need to leave the solitude of my beloved home in Vermont to travel to be with my parents.  I am almost numb this morning with the weight of it.  Everything I worried of yesterday before the news is washed away with my tears. A new perspective, indeed.
       I recall when my mom and I saw a Bald Eagle, a few years ago, flying over the car, on the bridge to the island.  It was her first, and I believe her only sighting, and we gasped and pointed and reached out hand in hand  to connect in the moment.   We both cherish that memory.  With tears of remembrance falling onto my keyboard; I pray for strength of Eagle, swift, easy flight of healing energy and the wisdom and love of all my companions.

Bald Eagle spotted January 20, 2012 in Alburgh, Vermont.

A is for Alchemy!!

    I am participating in the Pagan Blog Project.  Every week a large group of pagans from around the world will post to their blogs a topic of their choice starting with a letter.  This week is an A week.  I am amazed about all I did not know, and probably never will know about alchemy.  I decided on the name of my blog after  several days of thinking and meditating on the subject.  The name Of Eskies and Alchemy just "came to me" after meditating, and communicating briefly with a newly discovered spirit guide.  I will write more on spirit guides, and how they help me later.  I could not get the name out of my head, kept coming back to it, even though it is rather unusual.  I also kept thinking of integration in relation to my spiritual path.  Before I researched alchemy, I thought it was only to make something mundane special or different.  I was attracted to this because of my natural whimsy.   I was of course, aware of the esoteric nature of the study of alchemy, and also imagined ancient bearded men boiling substances in flasks.  So, in researching my first topic for the project, I am overwhelmed, excited, and prickling with psychic energy about alchemy.  This brief post will be only the beginning of my posts on alchemy.  I promise not to bore you.  Where to start??
      Alchemy is defined in Websters as, "Medieval chemical science and speculative philosophy aiming to achieve transmutation of the base metals into gold; the discovery of a universal cure for disease, and the discovery of a means to indefinitely prolong life.  A power or process of transforming something common into something special."  
The first known alchemists were Egyptian, however there is record of the study of alchemy all over the world.  Probably the best known, were the European alchemists searching for the Philosopher's Stone in the 17th century.   This stone, once created, could remove impurities from anything, including people.  To discover it, would be like finding the fountain of youth.  Even Issac Newton was an alchemist.  According to his journals, he was fascinated with having power over nature, and studied alchemy, although it became illegal at that time.  Authorities were worried about counterfeit of lesser metals, being sold as gold or silver.  I have to wonder though, if they were not also concerned about the spirituality of alchemical  pursuits not aligning with church doctrine.  
       Alchemy was not just scientific experiments performed in test tubes.  The scientists meditated on the results of an experiment, focusing on colors, and mundane and mystical animals to represent the steps.  A discovery that did not include changes to the very soul of a scientist could not be proven.  The inner awakenings  were as important as the physical results. The steps built on each other, and were documented in a lustrous code of symbols and pictures. 
     Alchemy was, and still is, a way for humans to seek their place in the universe.  Through attention to our spiritual hunger we can be forged, as if anew, in the great cauldron of life.  The great alchemists never found the secret to the Philosopher's Stone, but they gave themselves time and space to search into the blackness for a spark of light.  They integrated the spiritual and the physical worlds with a sense of wonder and awe.  They understood the connections, and the grandeur of infinite possibilities within change. 
       "Alchemy is truly the art of becoming allied to the full spectrum of life-forms, from mineral to spirit worlds", as defined by the Celtic Philosopher Caitlin Matthews in, Singing the Soul Back Home.  What a WOW moment when I read this.  My blog name is exactly what I needed and wanted, and I did not even realize it.  Life just works that way sometimes.  I got an answer, and I did not even know the full breadth of the question.  
With humility, and a wish for many more moments like this, I am again - in awe.

Please visit http://www.alchemywebsite.com for an unbelievable amount of information on alchemy.

From Museum Hermeticum, Frankfurt, 1625

    
     

    

Birthdays!!

     I am celebrating my 42nd birthday today!  I am feeling older, but not that old!  I have always liked celebrating anything, birthdays included.  I have always wondered though, why we don't really celebrate the mother of the person who was birthed??  For, the mother is the one who made it all possible.  In my case, my mother was young, alone in the delivery room, scared, yet very excited to meet me.  I really was a wrinkled, smooshed, pasty infant, (luckily my looks improved), but my mother says I was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen; and she named me Heather.  This Gaelic name of our heritage, was in fact perfect for me, and she decided on it against the wishes of others.  She also decided to breast-feed me.  This was not popular during that time, all her older sisters were against it, as well as all the nurses at the hospital, save one.  Fortunately, this older nurse helped my mother, and encouraged her.  I have kept this in my mind throughout my years of nursing, because mothers do know best!!  The birthing is only the beginning of what mothers do for their children.  I love her so much, and appreciate all she has done for me.  I am so thankful to have more and more interests to talk about with my mom as the years go by.  She is just as weird as me, or am I as weird as her? So today as I look out the window at the falling snow, munch on mini-cupcakes, and reflect on what fun I will conjure up for my next 42 years; I salute the one who made it all possible, my MOM!!

My mom and I at the Tower of London, on her 60th birthday!